You've got black on you, Sixer
by rapunzelwithascalpel
Summary: This is Weirdmageddon, and Bill Cipher intends to get really weird.


This was originally going to be a short drabble, but I gradually began adding more words and more detail. So it's really just an extended drabble. It slowly descends more into Bill's POV. Certain scenes seem to go by quickly, but that's because I envision Bill as getting bored very quickly.

I change tenses plenty of times because certain sentences just sound better in certain tenses. I will get over this annoying habit eventually. If you see errors, please tell me. I'll be embarrassed but it'll spare me future embarrassment, you feel me.

Enjoy, fellow Billford fans!

* * *

The all-seeing eye is fixated on Stanford Pines, and his blood runs cold.

It's the end. They've lost. He's lost. His family is no more. The equation is Bill's, was always going to be Bill's- why had he ever fought it?

And

it was _glorious_. Bill had Ford all to himself, and Ford would come round, oh _yes_. He'd come around eventually. They never all came around, but Ford was special.

Maybe Bill just had an affinity for freaks. He liked how unnatural the natural could be. Nothing ever obeyed entirely. At the core of everything, there was always chaos.

And sometimes, chaos just by chance, made sense.

Bill ran a hand through Ford's soft, grey curls. Humans liked being pet. There was a brief struggle against the chains holding Ford, but it ceased quickly.

See? No human could resist being petted.

The hand trails down from the curls, settles at Ford's cheek and cups it; the thumb stroking Ford's lips lightly before parting them with an intrusive push. There's warmth emitting from inside the cavity, but Bill doesn't want to jump the gun.

The hand seems to lose interest quickly and leaves Ford's mouth. Many emotions pass through Ford's face and Bill watches them all carefully. Horror and anger were the strongest, he noted.

"What is the point of this, Cipher? Kill me and be done with it."

"I gotta express my deep undying gratitude first, kid. Oh, and I'm trying my hand at a little conversion therapy. I'm curious if that crazy stuff really works!"

He grips Ford's hair from behind and gives a hard tug, careful not to accidentally snap Ford's neck. Physical bodies took time to get used to and Bill's had a few slip ups here and there.

"I could torture you, and give you **real** hell, Sixer." He yanked the gripped hair back and forth, jerking Ford's head comically. "Or I could give you everything you want, everything you've **dreamed** of, and see if you come around that way."

Bill laughs, and he smells Ford begin to sweat more. "You humans have such mediocre desires. I could give you everything you want and it'd be nothing to me, Fordsie!"

Bill's already decided what he's going to start with.

He extended a tongue, one of his many many appendages that could be spawned upon a whim, and it danced across Ford's neck before wrapping around and cuddling the jugular. It tightens, stops and then slithers around Ford's neck in an indefinite loop.  
Another tongue, he had _so many_ , began flicking licks on Ford's ear. The licks rapidly became more aggressive, trailing up and down Ford's full ear and Ford starts to squirm in response; the ear was an erogenous zone and Bill knows because Bill knows lots of things. Especially things related to Stanford Pines.

Bill remembers all of Ford's little fantasies, fantasies of Bill. Bill found them all hilarious- well, except for the ones where Ford imagined him taking the form of a female human.

Ugh, _no thank you_. He first thought it funny, but then rather insulting. He is beyond human comprehension and thus cannot be expressed in human form, and sex with him is beyond anything a human could grasp; so he supposed it was natural for Fordsie to imagine plain human sex. The real concept was something he could not have known of.

But those 'human Bill' fantasies were scarce compared to the ones involving hands and tentacles. Those were closer to reality, and Bill liked those. He was _more than willing to work with those_.

"What are you-?! Stop this at once, Bill. Are you out of your mind?!"

"What's with the attitude, kid? You begged me to be inside you." Bill pointed out, twisting the words Ford had cried to him not too long ago. Ford had begged him to take the equation before he vaporised Shooting Star and Pine Tree. Bill had only laughed.

But hey, begging Bill to enter his mind and take the equation was the same thing as begging to fuck him, and take something from him. Semantics semantics. _Don't stress on it_.

"Guess who's gonna learn what it's like getting fucked by a being made of pure energy-oh wait, I have a physical body now. Whatever! Guess who's gonna get fucked regardless?" Bill's body rapidly changed colours, a slot machine appearing in his eye: all 3 Ford's lined up. _Jackpot._

"Ding ding ding! It's you!"

Ford's eyes are so wide, Bill thinks they're gonna pop. Or pop out. There's more struggling against the chains, and Sixer starts repeating himself. Same old stuff- _are you insane cipher, let me go, blah blah_. Bill doesn't care, but he does like how terrified Ford gets.

Really, Bill thinks human sex is a great punchline. He thinks it's a real riot when he teases Ford with the concept of fucking him. Ford's mind is human, it's limited.

But hey, why not indulge a little in human play? He could always teach Ford how nonhumans fucked later. There was time. There was an eternity. It would blow Ford's mind. _He_ would blow Ford's mind.

"Okay enough boring talk of 'BUT WHY BILL' and all that jazz, let's get a'talking about the details. You think this would play out like human sex? I am beyond your comprehension, Fordsie and if you thought human sexuality was ever something that could get me excited, oooh boy, you'd be dead wrong there, kid." His laughter is grating, and he likes how Ford gets a little twitch near his right eye whenever he gets stressed and scared.

It makes Bill feel like Ford is winking at him. He likes that. Likes it when Ford expresses desire, be it unwilling or willing—Bill doesn't give a shit.

"The human mind is so limited."

 _.limited._

But when Bill's many many hands intertwine with Ford's pasty limbs, he sees the appeal. It wasn't a bad sight, not at all. Perhaps it was the red tint across Sixer's face, the visible tension in his muscles or maybe the way his body fought instinctively against Bill's touches. The contrast was nice too, the pink-tinted white skin of the human against the grotesque black of his limbs.

Ford was soft and hard and so fragile. Bill rubs and caresses all the different areas, hoping to discover another deformity, but Ford is perfect everywhere else.

Time to go a little deeper.

His fingers enter Ford's mouth first, exploring the warmth; it's wet, soft, and somehow incredibly inviting to Bill. It's an enticing suppleness—he thinks it might be nice to put something sensitive inside…but Bill doesn't have the _right_ appendage to force down Ford's throat. A true shame. The crime of the century even.

He sticks with his fingers, for now. Moving them in slow circles inside; the caution is almost tender.

"Whoa sixer, it's like a furnace in here! Maybe not the best place for _calcium_ , huh?"

Bill pulls Ford's teeth out. There's no pain, they come out like puzzle pieces. Teeth are hard, and annoying. There's a look in Ford's eyes as realizes what's happened, a look Bill wants to record and replay a few times right back to Sixer himself.

He goes back to work.

The sensation of touching gums is strange, and he wants Ford to participate more. The kid was starting to look a little out of it.

"Try giving a suck here and there, IQ. Don't leave an old pal hanging."

Ford does not obey, and Bill isn't excited enough with mouth-play to care. The human mouth gets boring quickly.

"Stick in the mud." He pulls out from Ford's mouth, fingers coated in spit. Ford's drooling a little, and a tongue quickly licks it up. Human saliva seemed to have no particular taste. _Disappointing_.

"Lemme get that for ya there, Sixer." Ford's teeth are back, good as new. He looked cuter with teeth.

More hands on Ford now, and they focus on the sweet spots no human body can resist. Bill remembers where Ford likes being touched. He's seen it many times in Ford's _dirty little_ fantasies.

He flicks Ford's erection, hard. It's wet, leaking, making a disgusting mess.

"Oooh boy! Someone got a little more excited than they want to admit."

He wraps a hand around it, and squeezes. Ford's hip buck in response. _Interesting_. It's been a long time since he's played with human bodies. Bill hasn't forgotten but irrelevant information tended to bury itself. This session with Sixer was just what Bill needed to jog his memory.

Despite Bill's disinterest in sex, the concept of doing it with Ford wasn't tedious. He can see Ford's amusing fear and dread, but it wasn't that long ago that Ford had dreamt and wanted this.

So what was the big deal? Humans always liked to pretend they didn't want the things they clearly wanted. Ford was convincing though.

His fingers prod at Ford's entrance. Did humans really jam things into these holes? Bill knew the answer, he knows _lots of things_ , and thinks it's ridiculous humans invented liquid to help them shove foreign items into their orifices.

A black tendril forces itself into Ford, and he jerks and screams, a scream that would put the screaming head to shame. Bill quite likes it. It wasn't something he'd like to hear continuously though.

"Oopsie, my bad there Fordsie!" The tendril stays put for only a second, before retreating.

"Am I being a little too rough? Talk to me, kid. I gotta have something to work with! Tell me what you want. I'm going in blind here." Lies. He knows what to do. He wants to hear Ford say it, to tell him, to beg him. To say exactly what he wants from Bill, what he's always wanted from Bill.

Ford's eyes are wet, but he's not crying. Bill doesn't want to see Ford cry. That's not fun.

"So how's this go?" His hands gently massage Ford's behind; his six-fingered little freak is shaking but there's no blood. "Slower or?"

Bill really wants to hear it.

"Tell me how you want. Tell me, Ford." Bill's voice goes lower and slower. "Tell me what you want. Where you want it."

But Ford is quiet, and refuses to talk now.

No no no no. Bill hates that, hates being ignored.

"Pride got your tongue, eh kid?" Ford just needed to realize Bill was far more important than his silly human pride.

"If you don't start talking, Stanford. If you don't tell me what I wanna hear…" His voice is in Ford's ear, inside his head even—everywhere. Ford cannot ignore it now.

"I might just start being a little more of an asshole, you know? I might decide 'hey, today's the day I feel like looking and acting like, let's say, **Stanley Pines**."

The implication is very very clear. If Ford doesn't want Bill, then Bill will go down the list of his fucking relatives, dress up in the corresponding little meatsuits, and have each one of them fuck him until Ford is begging to only be touched by Bill.

This is Weirdmageddon, and Bill Cipher intends to get really weird

"For God's sake Bill…you already have this planned out. Just get on with it." Ford's voice is defeated, but still, Bill waits.

He waits in silence, his eye on Ford.

A hand that held one of Ford's wrists closed down with enough pressure to crush it. He grunts in pain, grits his teeth and breathes deeply. Bill watches the movement of his chest, finding it erotic? He's not quite sure but he likes it.

Still, Bill waits in silence.

"Don't be rough…if you—if you can help it."

Bill beams, literally.

Finally, something. It was scraps but hey, he'd take what he could get right now.

Then Ford keeps talking, "Preparation. It's not self-lubricating…"

"And that means what, brainiac? You want me to get you all wet and ready?"

Ford says nothing.

"Let's try this again. I said, you want me, to get you, all wet and ready?" A finger resting near Ford's abdomen punctures through the skin, making a digit-sized hole in his flesh. There's blood and Ford screams, in both anger and frustration; Bill notices there's a difference in Sixer's screams and prefers the frustrated one.

"Yes, yes..." Ford finally manages to mutter. His voice is weak. Bill had barely done anything to him. _Sheesh_ , humans weren't very resilient.

Bill hums in content and gets to work.

Ford doesn't resist much as Bill gets him ready. He manoeuvres Ford like a doll, drapes his arms around his triangle body and secures him there carefully. It's an awkward embrace, but nice. With his own hands and a little Time Lube, Bill stretches and readies Ford, his eye half-lidded in the crook of Ford's neck, unable to look away from his flushed face.

"This is nice, yeah Sixer? Me, you, a little foreplay…" Bill purrs in Ford's ear, expecting no response. Sixer's breath is ragged, and it hitches whenever Bill pokes a little too roughly into him. Another set of hands rub circles on Ford's back reassuringly as Bill mentally projects ' _sshhh there there Fordsie_ ' into his mind.

Fordsie was pretty fucking cute right now.

When Bill is sure it's enough, he stops but doesn't pull out of the embrace. His left hand slides from Ford's behind towards his groin, and wraps around Ford's length. There's a hunger in Bill's touches, and he hopes Ford can feel it.

"Right then, so I'm supposed to put this baby into something nice, right? Right, Fordsie? How about the full experience?" Ford's dick is engulfed tightly by a thick, black pulsating membrane substance. It sucks Ford, contracting steadily around his erection in a way Bill _knows_ Ford likes.

"How about I turn you into a…a spit-roast, yeah? That what you call it?" This time, Ford is good and ready for him, and he pushes in slower. It's not long before Bill finds a nice pace that doesn't leave an ugly look on Ford's face.

"Congratulations! You are now getting fucked, and fucking!"

Ford is surprisingly quiet, other than a few grunts here and there and the odd sigh. It's as if he has nothing left to say to Bill.

Which is shame because Bill has plenty to say to him.

A peek here and there into Ford's mind let Bill keep track of Ford's progress, there was always either profanity or woe-is-me pep talk about how 'this couldn't last forever'. Which was true, nothing lasted forever when it came to Bill. Only Bill himself was eternal.

A sudden hard thrust sent Ford into hysteria, "Fuck fuck fuck—" Bill is sure those are cries of pain, but hey, he's going to pretend it's lust. An earned punishment for giving Bill the silent treatment so damn much.

"Whoa easy there, Sixer." Bill's eye squints with amusement. He grabs Ford's chin, and tilts his face up so their eyes lock. "Feel how it takes away your strain and stress and turns it into _delight_. You ever heard that song before? It's great, kid. I'll sing it for you sometime."

Bills turns it up a notch; touches all the right places, goes at the right pace, sucks and squeezes with the right force, and he knows Ford is nearly finish.

When Ford climaxes, his whole body convulses, and he makes a sound Bill has never heard a human make. It's enough to make him howl with laughter.

The tendrils leave Ford, and Bill pulls him close once again, arms embracing the human intimately. Ford is incredibly warm; he's panting and Bill can feel the warm air hit his physical body.

He wants to do this again. The next round would definitely be better, and he might even get a more vocal Ford. If not, Bill will just keep trying again and again and again until Ford is reacting exactly how he wants him to. Practice makes perfect, after all.

He forms a mouth and kisses Ford hard, hard enough to let Ford know there is no love in Bill's passion. There will never be love, there will never be need.

There is only Bill Cipher's lips and Stanford Pine's lips touching.

* * *

Well, _maybe_ there is a need. A need to reduce Ford to the chaos that Bill knows has made its home in Ford's heart, just as Bill himself as a home in Ford's heart. To free Ford, to just-

Bill won't speak of it. He'd rather find a way to swallow Ford whole with his new mouth.


End file.
